


Catch

by pseudocitrus



Series: Catch [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Childhood Friends, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn, and also Academy Phase, pre-Academy Phase
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-13 03:37:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20575835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudocitrus/pseuds/pseudocitrus
Summary: He always dreaded whenever his father called him out of his room to come and meet “a visitor” — but this time was different.===Sylvix fics!1. When they meet.2. Growing up, and growing apart.3. How things changed between them, and how they didn't.





	1. The Gautier Estate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When they meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wanted to write a sylvix so bad...i ended up meandering myself into this.
> 
> ideally i'll keep having ideas and update this now and then. ///

He always dreaded whenever his father called him out of his room to come and meet “a visitor” — but this time was different.

“A new friend for you,” Margrave Gautier announced. “This is…”

“Felix,” Felix muttered when the Duke nudged him. “My name’s Felix.”

_A boy._

“I’m Sylvain,” Sylvain said brightly, the way people were supposed to when they met someone. “Nice to meet you, Felix.”

“Likewise,” Felix said, even more quietly than before.

Sylvain’s excitement died. It figured that the only person his father introduced him to that wasn’t a marriage prospect would be some meek boring kid. _He’s not gonna be any fun at all._ Their fathers kicked them out into the wilderness so they could resume their boring talking, and Sylvain started off on his own as usual, and was surprised to hear from behind him — “Hey...where are you going?”

“Hunting,” Sylvain told him, turning. He tilted his head. “You...want to come?”

“S-sure — yeah.”

Weird. Sylvain tested him, curious, over the next few days, and it turned out Felix was up for pretty much anything — running, hunting, spying, swimming in the coldest lakes, crafting swords out of fallen boughs for war; and, as it turned out, rock climbing. No matter what Sylvain suggested Felix was always coming after him with a _“Slow down, Sylvain,”_ or _“Wait for me, Sylvain,”_ and the poor kid wasn’t especially strong either, so Sylvain really did have to wait, blowing on his fingers impatiently to warm them as Felix gingerly searched for handholds up the outcropping Sylvain had found.

The rock climbing suggestion was really just a joke, but Felix had looked at him and then up the cliffside with such determination that Sylvain had no choice really but to follow through. It turned out to be not that much of a challenge, for him. But for Felix —

“Right there, right — no, to the left,” Sylvain said, pointing. Felix’s face was red with effort and he searched with gritted teeth, huffing out big frantic clouds. Finally he managed it, and got close enough that Sylvain took pity on him and extended a hand, and helped him up the rest of the way. Felix coughed and rested on his hands and knees, panting so miserably that Sylvain laughed.

“You gotta train more. No one’s gonna want to marry you if you can’t manage even that.”

“Ma...ma...marry?” Felix looked up at him with furrowed brows, still trying to catch his breath.

“Well, yeah.”

“Why...why...would I care about that?”

Now Sylvain’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean? Don’t you have a Crest?”

“Yeah,” Felix said defensively. “Of course.”

“Well, so, then you need to get married.”

“I thought...that was something...for when you get older. My brother Glenn...is gonna get married to Ingrid when she gets old enough. Do you know her?” Felix asked, brightening a bit. “She’s nice. Mostly.”

Oh, so that’s who Ingrid was. Sylvain remembered his father cursing about an Ingrid some time back. _She would have been perfect. If only Sylvain had been born first —_

“Yeah, it happens for real when you get older, but all the preparation and stuff happens around now,” Sylvain said. “Like for your brother and Ingrid. So your older brother has a Crest? And he’s gonna be the head of your house?”

“Um, yeah.” Felix said it a little too quickly, like he didn’t really know and was just trying to appease Sylvain. Sylvain frowned at him and Felix protested. “He will be, but right now he’s a knight. He’s working for the king.”

“Wow! The king’s knight, huh? And yet he doesn’t have any time to help his own little brother learn how to climb? Some brother.”

He meant it just to tease him, but for the first time since they’d met, Felix’s eyes darkened. “Shut up,” he snapped. “My brother is really busy doing important things every day. Way more important than just — just — playing around.”

Oooh, he was pissed. Sylvain was careful to hold back his laugh. _Remind me not to get on his bad side._ He decided to feel things out a little more and made a worried face.

“Sorry, sorry! That was too far, I’m sorry.” He held up his hands, placating. “I’m such an idiot. If you don’t want to come along with me anymore, that’s fine. There’s a really good hunting place I found nearby with a lot of rabbits but — but I bet you wouldn’t really want to go with me anymore — and you’re probably really tired since I made us climb this thing...”

Felix frowned. He looked down at his hands. By now he had caught his breath. “It’s...alright,” he muttered. “I can come. But just don’t say stuff like that again about my brother.”

_At least he doesn’t hold a grudge._

And was a great brother. A better brother than Sylvain was, to his own older brother. Maybe if Sylvain was more like Felix, Miklan would want him around. Sylvain made himself smile.

“Okay, fine. I won’t say anything mean anymore about your older brother.” Sylvain held out his hand again, and Felix watched him carefully and then took it, and Sylvain pulled him to his feet. Then Sylvain broke into a run, and Felix ran after him, crying out.

“Sylvain! Sylvain, wait!”

“Go faster!” Sylvain shouted back. “This is training! We’re training, so when your brother comes back you can show him how strong you are!”

_“Sylvain!”_

It was fun to be chased, even if it was by someone who probably would never catch him unless Sylvain let him. He went as fast as he could and Felix ran after him and by the time Sylvain slowed and let Felix catch his shoulder, Felix looked so shocked that Sylvain found himself laughing, for real, and Felix — his closed-off face now flushed with effort — Felix, for the first time, was laughing too.

:::

It was the most fun he could remember having, with anyone. That was the first time he thought it, quietly, and when he approached his father about it that very night, he only waved his hand dismissively.

”No. Not for you, Sylvan.”

”B-but...” Sylvain’s voice always shook, when he spoke to his father, even when his father wasn’t even looking at him. “Um...but did you know...that he has a Crest too?”

”How fortune for the Duke, to have two sons with Crests,” the Margrave muttered to himself. His face had not yet quite untwisted when he continued. “Don’t be stupid, Sylvain. You need a marriage that will secure heirs for this family. That’s the only reason for marriage. But, I am glad you’ve managed to befriend the Duke’s son regardless. Such bonds are beneficial in the event of war. In any case, I have already arranged another prospect for you when the Duke departs,” and Sylvain understood this as his dismissal, and went to bed early, ignoring the sound of Felix wandering back and forth and calling quietly out for him.

It was unfair, but Felix would only be here for a short time, so he tried, at least, to enjoy it. Still, the half-moon of the Duke Fraldarius’s visit passed too quickly. The evening before Felix was to go, they went out for one last time, to the top of the outcropping. They’d wandered and chased and talked as they pleased, until Felix no longer needed to ask Sylvain to wait, until Sylvain no longer had to be the only one to suggest things to do. By then, they’d talked about a lot — the distance of their brothers, the heaviness of their Crests, the shadow of their fathers, the plans already laid out for them that led to Garreg Mach, and even how much Sylvain hated, loathed, despised marriage. They sat and watched their breath plume up to the moon, silently.

Sylvain waited and waited for his words to collect themselves, but they kept fluttering around just out of reach, all around his head, his stomach. He felt light-headed and then sick. He sucked in a breath and Felix glanced at him.

“Don’t worry,” he said.

“Worry about what?”

“I’ll come back.”

The muscles on Sylvain’s face rearranged impulsively to make a smile, but for once, he couldn’t quite let it finish. He set his chin on his folded knees. He couldn’t bear to admit, even to himself, his dread. To go from _this_, back to the stilted cold of his father and brother — to the endless parade of marriage prospects, coming and going as certainly as the blank days —

“When?” Sylvain asked. “Whenever your father comes back? When will that be?”

“If it’s not soon then I’ll learn how to ride out by myself and come back,” Felix said simply. “Or you could. If you’re not too lazy.”

Sylvain snorted, with surprise.

“Alright,” he said. “Yeah. I’ll wait then.”

“…what? So you’re not going to learn at all?” And he sounded so indignant that Sylvain laughed aloud. A moment later he cut himself off.

_No. Not for you, Sylvan._

He could feel Felix watching him with concern, and Sylvain took a deep breath, tried to calm the words writhing in him, tried to find his usual smile, and his usual ones — _I’m fine, I’m okay. Ugh, how stupid am I? I just need rest, I just need —_

His head was racing. Before he could manage anything, Felix caught his shoulder. Though he spent the past days running after him and pleading and catching his breath from exhaustion or laughter, now his face was serious, determined.

“Sylvain. Let’s make a promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it feels so strange to write the apparently “meek and carefree” felix of yore but...fun too ////
> 
> thank you for reading! ♡


	2. The Palace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Growing up, and growing apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to be honest i have terrible memory and i can't really exactly remember what sylvain's dad's characterization is like...i'm moving off mostly assumptions here based on miklan being disinherited sylvain's vaguely scary lines about despising the people that come after his bones. in general i tried canon-checking various things but...i'm not done with all the routes yet and don't want to be spoiled. ;;;;
> 
> if you see something amiss...feel free to steer me a little for future edits, haha.

_“Let's stay together forever, until we die.”_

So easy to say and believe, at the beginning.

:::

It started so well between them — all of them.

“Make sure Fraldarius's younger son introduces you properly,” Sylvain's father said, and Sylvain nodded distantly as his father continued muttering. Sylvain was fixed on the horizon, to the looming palace. It was the first time he was visiting, and he had absolutely no worries about getting along with anyone, until he arrived and Felix wasn’t there to greet him. As they waited to be received, he shuffled his feet impatiently, and after some time realized the some of the young maids refreshing flowers in the entryway were whispering about _him_.

“The Margrave's son...the one with the Crest.”

“Still not matched? I wonder...”

“Handsome, though —”

He blinked with surprise and looked at then, and they jolted, and laughed to each other. They continued watching him, and Sylvain turned away, shifting his weight from foot to foot and hoping Felix would come out quickly. Talk about pedigrees, and genetics, and fruitful matches — he had silently accepted a whole week of it, in exchange for the privilege of accompanying his father here, and he could take no more of just shutting off and making the noises and nods that were the only thing desired of him.

Finally, a shadow in the hall — someone was coming.

“Don't embarrass me,” his father said, nudging him. He was staring straight ahead. Sylvain put up his smile, obediently.

:::

When he finally found Felix, it was in the practice yard. He was training with someone, who turned out to be Ingrid. Sylvain watched for a while, his excitement at discovering Felix weakening into a strange, quivery sort of dread. Their motions were fluid, coordinated — the result of hours and days, maybe even months or years of practice. At some point Ingrid's practice lance stuck Felix in the sternum and he jumped, and then laughed. They knew each other well. Perhaps even better than Sylvain knew Felix.

_Of course,_ Sylvain told himself, with annoyance. They were siblings through marriage, after all. Still, it took him a while to clear his throat and raise his hand and call out a smiling greeting.

“You already know each other?” Ingrid said in surprise, when Felix introduced them.

“We're friends,” Sylvain said, a little defensively, and Ingrid glanced at Felix questioningly.

“Yes,” Felix confirmed. “We're friends.”

Sylvain had just said as much but something about the offhanded way Felix said it himself bothered him, and Sylvain impulsively hooked his arm over Felix’s shoulder, which made Ingrid blink.

“Wanna be friends too?” Sylvain asked her, and she smiled, uncertainly.

“Sure. But...not if you’re going to do that to me too. I’m engaged.”

“So what? People can’t do this unless they’re engaged?”

Probably not, as it turned out, though Felix didn’t mind it, and Ingrid’s grimace didn't stop Sylvan from touching and butting in and doing everything he could to weave himself in, to keep himself surrounded, to convince his father it was much more beneficial for him to be here than at the empty Gautier estate. Soon, Sylvain managed to share some private jokes with all of them, even Prince Dimitri himself, who made appearances between whatever weird and boring prince stuff he had to do that Sylvain personally was glad to be excluded from.

Whether his father approved of Sylvain of not, whatever background political machinations their parents were up to eventually meant that they all spent a lot of time together, training and playing and being generally up to no good, much to Ingrid's helpless protestations and Sylvain's delight. She had a hilarious indignation in response to most of the things he liked to rope Felix into doing with him, which started with dyeing the tails of the royal horses and escalated, as Sylvain grew wiser, into things like leaving the bawdiest jokes in the oldest, most religious books he could find.

It was the best time of his life. He wanted to try everything denied him by his father — he wanted to see what he enjoyed, and it turned out he enjoyed a lot of things, given the chance. Bonding with the offspring of neighboring mobility was an adequate excuse for blowing off arranged marriage meetings, and he could spend as much time with company as he could possibly get. It was a drastic and welcome change from his endless lone wandering of the Gautier estate, and the only things that ever dampened his mood were when all Ingrid and Felix wanted to do were talk about Glenn, or worse: when Glenn dropped by to visit himself.

“Hello, Felix, Ingrid — Your Highness — and you too, Sylvain, hello,” he would say, kindly, and then hand them all candy before moving on to continue training, which they all accepted, even Felix, much to Sylvain’s annoyance.

“He’s been your brother for so long and he can’t remember you don’t like sweet things?” Sylvain asked around a mouthful of sugar.

“It’s not about whether I like it or not,” Felix muttered, pocketing it his new gift. “I’m just happy he thinks of me.”

There was the meek Felix again. There was a certain charm to him when he was like this. If only it didn’t usually happen when he was talking about Glenn.

“If it were me, I’d give you way better things,” Sylvain announced, and Felix glanced at him.

“Like what?”

“Like some spicy Duscur soup. Or a fresh pheasant. Or smoked boar. Or a brand new hunting knife.”

Felix blinked. “Wow, you didn’t even need time to think. Did you think of those a long time ago?”

“No,” Sylvain protested. “I just know you, is all. Way better than your brother.”

Felix watched him carefully. “You don’t need to prove anything,” Felix said. “Even if he’s my brother, you’re my best friend. We’ll still be together until we die.”

_Best friend._ It was a good thing Felix was so kind, because his level of perception wielded by a bitter tongue would probably be sharp enough to make you bleed. Felix always knew how to stab right into something — in this case, Sylvain’s chest. “Mmm,” Sylvain said, looking down to hide the warm squirmy feeling threatening to ruin his expression.

_This is fine._ To be honest, he hadn’t worked out how to deal with all the marriage stuff yet, but as long as Felix was beside him it didn’t feel like it mattered so much. So what if he eventually ended up in some awful marriage with someone he barely cared about? The only point of it would be to make an heir. Through it all he’d still have Felix to keep him company and stave off his loneliness, and nothing would ever stop Sylvain either from being the one Felix sought out whenever Glenn passed without stopping to say hello to him, or Duke Fraldarius forgot some plan he made with him. It hurt Felix to be overlooked, it did something wild and deep to him that resembled what happened to Sylvain when he was alone with strangers at home, and at times like this, it was Felix that searched Sylvain out, crushed and tight-lipped. He kept himself as closed as a fist until Sylvain led them out to the stables and they rode out together to a calm high hill, sitting where the moon was bright and sky wreathed with stars. Only here did Felix unfurl his wounds, voice shaking.

“Maybe...if I was just more like Dimitri —”

“No!” Sylvain bristled. “It has nothing to do with you at all. It’s just politics. I hate when my father focuses on stupid stuff like that too.”

A small overstatement; his father didn't have even a smudge of the kindness Duke Fraldarius had. But Felix looked a little calmer.

“Sometimes...I hate...that they always have time for him,” he mumbled, very very quietly. “But no one has time for me.”

“I always will,” Sylvain said. “Remember?”

Felix scuffed the ground with his boot. Sylvain thought, and then held his breath, and then did it — scooted a little closer, until their shoulders touched, until their warmth merged.

Times like these were when he felt himself waver, when he felt both terrible, and good. More and more nowadays he felt the compulsion to step outside the careful boundaries and faces his father had taught him to build between himself and everyone else, the facades that suited the only heir of the Gautier clan. The weather had grown too cold now for them to spend the night outside, for them to chat until they drifted off, and wake up in the morning shaking off dew. Sylvain watched Felix's hand, wanting to take it and rub it between his own to warm it. He wanted...he wanted...to be together.

_We are,_ Sylvain reminded himself. _We will be._

“Your father and Glenn will get better,” Sylvain said. “And...and no matter what, I’ll always be here. Remember? Until we die.”

“Until we die,” Felix echoed.

Terrible and good. But mostly good. Sylvain leaned on him, a little, and Felix, just a little, leaned back.

:::

Nowadays, Sylvain understood he had as many people that hated him as there were that loved (or at least wanted) him, and that's why — no matter the variety of other little crumbs he scattered for his admirers — he never admitted this: though he lost no one in the Tragedy of Duscur, it was still the worst thing that had happened to him.

Information was scattered, and every messenger and maid wild with panic and grief, and Sylvain's father ordered him to stay in his quarters but somewhere in the chaos the Duke found him, in a panic, and gasped, “Where is Felix,” and Sylvain jerked, and was filled with so much fear that it took minutes for him to understand that Felix hadn't been killed in the skirmishes and riots, but had simply run away, somehow, for some reason.

“Are there places you two go? Together? Places that he might go to seek a little peace?” the Duke asked, and Sylvain shook his head — “N-no — we go — we just go everywhere —” And the moment the Duke rushed off to continue his search Sylvain ran to the stables and took a horse.

“Felix!” he shouted when he came to the hill, but the figure there didn't turn to him, didn't even look, didn't even move. Sylvain jumped off his horse and rushed up to him, and his body grew cold at the sight of Felix in the grass.

_He's hurt,_ Sylvain thought in panic, but he wasn't — well, he was, he was — sobbing.

“Felix,” Sylvain gasped, and Felix looked up at him, blearily, and didn't move, not even when Sylvain straightened him out and then, in a burst of relief and worry, hugged him, tight, as if to stop his shaking with pure force. He'd never seen Felix in such a state. Felix’s mouth opened and shut, but he was unable to speak, and Sylvain just held him tighter.

“It's — it's okay — you don't need to say anything,” Sylvain said, and Felix shuddered, and thrashed, so harshly that Sylvain released him, with a pang of embarrassment. Maybe Felix didn't want — but no — he clutched Sylvain back, buried his head into Sylvain's shoulder, his whole body shaking.

“My brother,” Felix cried, finally, and Sylvain understood. Of course the king's knight...would...

Sylvain swallowed. For once, he could think of nothing to say, but Felix didn't seem to need it. He cried for a long time, and when Sylvain finally murmured “Your father was looking for you, maybe we should get back,” Felix's grip tightened.

“I never want to see him again,” he snarled. “I hate him!”

To hear the fangs in his voice chilled him.

“Okay,” Sylvain said quickly, “we — we don't have to go,” and he would have just continued holding Felix then, but Felix shook him off. He was shaking, still, but differently than before. His gaze was dark.

They couldn’t stay out forever. Eventually, they rode the horse Sylvain brought back to the palace; but once they reached the grounds, Felix set off, without a word, and didn't look back. He left so quickly that Sylvain didn't have time to call out an apology, just in case, so he simply led the horse back to the now-empty stables, shaken.

The tragedy happened both all at once, and over and over again. Ingrid wept for days, and then simply vanished, with all her things. Dimitri was surrounded by so many guards that no one could get near him, and even when the guards were gone he was shrouded by hissed remarks about his newest shadow, a Duscur boy whose expression didn't change even when people spat at his feet. And Felix —

He paced. He shouted at the Duke in the corridors. He decimated every straw practice figure in the practice yard, and when Sylvain asked if he wanted a partner he shook his head, and returned wordlessly to pale-knuckled, held-breath violence. Once, Sylvain tried to catch him in his quarters, and only found him asleep, sprawled in his training gear and surrounded by papers that Sylvain quickly deduced were discarded candy wrappers. The next time Sylvain tried to check on him, Felix’s room was cleaned and completely empty, and a passing servant explained that the Fraldarius household had departed that morning.

There were funerals. At each one, Felix was too far — separated either by literal distance, or by Sylvain's inability to think of anything to say, by the paralysis of his own body. _Until we die_ felt like a terrible way to soothe someone, in this case, and when the crowds receded even a bit it was usually to reveal Felix and Ingrid together, stooped, silent and hollow and worn and knotted together in grief that Sylvain couldn't pretend to have any part of, and had no script for addressing. His father never told him what to do in times like this, and only told him to stay back when Sylvain asked, and though Sylvain tried to summon some emotion about the proceedings, something that could guide him, he couldn’t manage anything close to what he imagined they felt. The memory of Felix's tears and uncontrolled sobbing was so strong that it hurt his chest to think of it, but he didn't dare hurt Felix further with his ignorance. Sylvain hadn't really lost anyone.

But...

Afterward. After the riots ceased, after it was safe to go out again, after he hadn't seen anyone in weeks. After rehearsing his request in the mirror, he asked his father for paper to write a letter, and his father didn't even look up, but only snapped: ”What are you planning to do? Bother the Duke’s son? What stupid thing could you possibly say? Leave them to their mourning! Or better yet, focus on your prospects.”

Sylvain blinked hard. He couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t stay. This emptiness and silence was something he had come to know only as a memory, or a nightmare, and he could handle it less now that he understood what it was like to live without it, he took a horse and left, aiming it first to the Fraldarius estate and then, when the servants looked at him helplessly and told him Felix was not in a state to receive visitors, Sylvain took the horse to the palace, at loss and filled only with the hope that somehow, maybe, when he arrived, there would be...something. Anything. Anyone.

But the swell of activity that followed the tragedy was gone now. The palace was so empty that he could hear the echoing footsteps of a young maid approaching, still dutifully replacing the flowers. He was so quiet that she didn't spot him until she was right in front of him, and she jumped when he caught her attention.

“Oh! I'm sorry — I didn't see...I'm sorry.” She started to bow her apologies, and then blinked, and tilted her head at him. Her face reddened, deeply. “Aren't you...the Margrave's son? The one...younger one?”

Sylvain looked at her. He found himself startled, not just to be addressed but to be...looked at. Spoken to.

And then he smiled, warmly, and made a show of adjusting his clothing.

“Yes. I am.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaahhh i'm in sylvix hell!! thank you for reading! ♡


	3. Training Grounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How things changed between them, and how they didn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmmm, this chapter starts veering slightly more into the “Not General Audiences” territory & i prefer to keep all the fics together rather than separate them by rating so, please jump down to see the end notes for a plot summary so you can avoid content you may not be in the mood for reading right now. 👌✨

_“Let's stay together forever, until we die.”_

How did everything change between them?

:::

There was the sound of sobbing in the Officer’s Academy. Felix did his best to ignore it, and eventually the girl left, still crying, but more quietly than before. That would have been the end of it then, if only Ingrid hadn’t sat down at the desk beside him with a heavy huff.

He didn’t ask, but Ingrid told him anyway.

“That was Sylvain. _Again._”

Normally, Felix would have left for someplace with more peace. Since it was Ingrid, however, and since this was the third girl this week she had had to console in order to mostly preserve the aforementioned peace, Felix offered her a mild “Mm.”

“He's gotten so much worse,” Ingrid grumbled. “What happened to him?”

Felix glanced at her with a frown, and she frowned back.

“Well...I do know about Miklan. I tried to talk about him about it, but he said he was fine.” She sighed. “Is that what he said to you too?”

“...yes,” Felix admitted. The news had dispersed quickly after Byleth returned, and it was the first time Felix had sought out Sylvain in...years. He hadn't anticipated how difficult it would be to think of something to say.

_“Are you...alright?”_

All the difficulty and second-guessing he'd gone through trying to find the right words, and Sylvain had only shrugged.

_“Sure. Not like I lost anyone that cared about me.”_

_”You should train more,”_ Felix replied, after some time, but something about it was wrong, something about it didn’t come out the way he intended. Even so, Sylvain just tilted his head at him and smiled.

_“Today? Sorry, but I’ve already got plans. If you know what I mean.”_

_“Tomorrow then,_” Felix said, to which Sylvain said, “_Hmm...plans tomorrow too.”_

“He wasn't ever this bad, right?” Ingrid asked. “I mean, he was always the troublemaker when we were young, but this...”

“He wasn't the only troublemaker,” Felix said. “Wasn't it you that picked the colors for dyeing the horses?”

“Yes, but...” Ingrid's face matched the color she had so gleefully picked out that day. “You know what I mean. That was all fun when we were children, but it's time for him to mature. Like you and me. Don't you think?”

“I think,” Felix said, “that Sylvain is involved in more mature activities than both of us put together.”

Ingrid grumbled.

“You take the next girl, then.”

:::

She was serious. She marched the next victim all the way from the Officer's Academy to the training grounds, and then marched away while Felix was still blinking in shock. Felix remembered the girl, vaguely; she was from the next year up.

“I can't help you,” Felix told her immediately. “And I'm busy.”

“I've never felt so completely abandoned in my life,” she said tearfully, as if he hadn't said a thing. “What the hell is his problem? I should have just listened — when they told me he pretty much has a different girl every night —”

_You should have,_ Felix agreed, silently. It's not like it was some big secret.

Outwardly, he said, “I wouldn't know anything about that,” and pretended to buff a stain out of his sword.

“Wouldn't you? You're his best friend, aren't you?”

That made him look up. “Who said that?”

_“Him!”_

Felix's surprise must have been evident, because she shook her head. “I guess that was just another lie he told me to convince me he had a heart,” she muttered. “You're probably just some other poor person he threw away after you stopped being useful to him.”

“Maybe,” Felix said, after a moment. “In any case, if I was thrown away by someone, you can bet I would leave quietly.”

She didn't take the hint.

“Just tell me what the point is,” she pleaded. “Did someone hurt him? Or what? Is he just the type of guy that pushes you away as soon as you get close? You don't need to give me a long explanation.” She was on the verge of tears again. Her misery made her unexpectedly, uncomfortably bare. “Just — something — anything. It's not me, right? It’s _him!_ He never once fell asleep beside me — and he was always gone before I woke up. What’s his problem? Why does it have to be a different person every week, almost every night?”

_Because he doesn't like sleeping by himself. Because he doesn’t like being in his room, that his father paid for him to have. Because he doesn't like anything that starts to feel like home, because he doesn't like the place he's forced to call home._

“No idea,” Felix said. “Ingrid's better at that sort of thing.”

She stared at him, tears brimming, and then accepted his answer and stormed away, presumably back to the Officer’s Academy.

:::

Was he thrown away?

Sylvain was careless with hearts, but not intentionally cruel, really. The years that had passed had opened open a chasm between the two of them, but nothing outright malicious. They had simply gotten older. The Tragedy of Duscur had made them grow up in an instant, and all in different directions, and some faster and farther than others, if Sylvain's escapades were any indication. They never did end up all together again in the palace in the same way, and the few times that Felix and Sylvain did happen to be present at the same time, Felix was always focusing on training, and Sylvain was always focusing on a new maid. Their days of wandering the wilderness together were simply past, as far behind them as pacifiers and children’s books. Meeting again as Blue Lions was pleasant, but not necessarily a reunion the likes of which they’d had before, yelling and hugging and racing off to play all in one breath.

But Felix’s hand wavered, and he kept missing targets, and with a sigh he began to clean off all his weaponry and retire it all back to the armory.

_Best friend._

He still remembered the cold bite of his disappointment when Sylvain refused to go into the training grounds with him, the first time they saw each other again at the palace. Like he didn’t care at all about their promise anymore, like he was fine with staying weak and dying like a dog. A best friend wouldn’t do that, right? Sylvain chose girls every time, even though up until then Felix was sure he hated everything that had even a whiff of marriage in it. Then again, it wasn’t like Sylvain was marrying any of them.

_Best friend._ Those times had been nice, though. Glenn had never taught him anything about anything but Sylvain knew a lot, his father made sure he was self-sufficient. He could hunt and knew the wilderness and was good at just making up games to suit their mood and Felix didn’t even have to ask to be shown any of it. Presently, Felix found himself wandering to the stables, where he snuck behind a wall and managed to saddle up a horse all while avoiding Ingrid gently soothing the student, who was sobbing again. He led it out the monastery front gate and left.

_Is he just the type of guy that pushes you away as soon as you get close?_

If he was, he wasn’t always like that. Outside, Felix rode silently until he found what he was looking for: a gentle slope, soft grass, a view of the sky unfettered by overhanging trees. It was the kind of place Sylvain always liked to stop and lounge to watch the sunset and Felix loosened the horse to graze, and lied down, with a heavy breath. The last time he was in a place like this with Sylvain, the moons were changing, and it was starting to get to be the kind of cold outside that was dangerous to be in too long at night.

_”I guess we should be going back,”_ he’d said, and his voice was filled with so much sorrow that Felix had protested without even thinking: _”We don’t have to. We can stay out here.”_

_“What...really? You want to? But it’ll be so cold. What if you get sick?”_

_“I’m sure we’ll be warm if we go really close together.”_ They tested it, inching close, wrapping the blankets around either side. It did feel warm enough — warmer, almost, then at the start of the year’s first summer moons. Before Felix could say it, he turned to Sylvain and found him already asleep, his face against Felix’s shoulder and his fingers hooked loosely on the edge of Felix’s coat. He always fell asleep so quickly. And woke up late, too, never wanting to go back to the palace, even to the extent of pretending to continue sleeping even when Felix was already flicking off the dew beaded up on his eyelashes.

Those days had an intimacy they never repeated and which Felix never spoke of to anyone, not even Ingrid. To even remember it now gave him a worn and worried feeling in his chest, like coming across an old box with a favorite shirt and not wanting to expose it for fear of finding it eaten by moths. But Sylvain had told someone that they were _best friends_...what else had he said? Or whispered, maybe, to a stranger that barely knew either of them? There’s no way that Sylvain would say anything about those times, right? It wasn’t so much about Felix’s reputation or pride as much as...

_You're probably just some other poor person he threw away after you stopped being useful to him._

Suddenly, he heard a shriek.

Felix stiffened, and spun, pressing his stomach to the ground. _Stupid,_ he hissed at himself. _What was I thinking?_ Stupid, _stupid_ idea —to go out here, alone, when left and right the students of Garreg Mach were getting tasked to put down bandits and thieves and rebellions —

The shriek was so close, just on the other side of the hill. Felix gripped his sword, and took a deep and steadying breath, and made himself peer over the edge of the hill. There was a girl there — the screamer, held by a larger figure, a man — she’d tripped, she was on the ground, the man quickly leaped on top of her and —

“Yes,” he heard, and then he heard shuffling, and a quiet delighted squeal, and then he heard something — wet-ish — repeated — and he registered, finally, the flash of bright hair, and how its shape looked awfully familiar.

If he had any sense of humor, he would have laughed then. As it was, the only thing that suffused him was horror, and a kind of astonishment. So he did know exactly the kind of place Sylvain liked to go, outside. And Sylvain, sitting below him with a girl now maneuvered into his lap, still liked to go there.

They were laughing. And kissing.

“Sylvain!” he heard, “Sylvain, you —”

The girl’s voice was cut off, smothered into a laugh and then a moan. The — sounds were shockingly loud.

_I HAVE TO GO._ Before he was noticed, before Sylvain did the simple task of looking up and spotting him somehow paralyzed in place. In his fervor though Felix forgot that he was still wearing all his normal gear and weaponry, his sword buckled and clicked and scraped against the earth, and the next thing he knew Sylvain had looked up at him precisely, mid-kiss, eyes wide.

“Wh —?” The current girl almost turned her head, but Sylvain raised his hands to her cheeks, framed her in place, kept her from following his gaze. He smiled at her, and kissed her again, more deeply than before, with a sigh that resounded from both of them, and made Felix’s face bubble with heat.

Sure it was well-known that Sylvain was the — hungriest of the Blue Lions (and everyone else at Garreg Mach). But Sylvain (somehow) kept most of his activities beyond sight, and so it hadn’t really occurred to Felix before this that this was what it looked like: a flurry of hands crushing against each other’s bodies, threading through hair and glittering over uniform zippers and buttons, and Sylvain’s expression already lost again, slack with pleasure, lazy and drinking against his partner’s mouth again and again.

_When did he learn that?_ He never used to do that. Not that he — _should_ have, but —

Felix jumped, realizing that Sylvain was looking at him again. Their eyes met, and stayed, because Felix found himself trying hard to understand what Sylvain was trying to convey to him, if anything, and Sylvain, maybe, was doing the same — until Felix jolted, finally, and broke away. He made his way down the hill, as quietly as possible, and stumbled back onto his horse. For some reason, he was breathing hard, and as harshly as if he’d been running.

:::

_I can never face him again._

Embarrassing enough that he had stumbled onto that whole...thing. It was mortifying that he hadn’t been able to coordinate his body effectively enoughto make a quicker getaway.

_At least,_ Felix thought, _he won’t want to look at me either_, and so when Sylvain entered the training grounds the very next day with a hand raised in greeting Felix stumbled and almost stabbed his sword into a pillar.

“Hey,” Sylvain called brightly. “What’s up?”

“Training,” Felix told him warily. “Obviously.”

“Always at it, huh?”

“You could stand to be a little more...at it.” Felix started to look at him, and at the last moment grimaced and instead held out his sword. “Take this. Let’s spar.”

He felt needles and static squirming in his skin. Maybe some exercise would get rid of it.

“Oh, no thanks. I’m a little busy. Actually, you are too.”

“What?”

“Byleth wants to have lunch with us. Come on!” he said, when Felix frowned and turned away fully. “I already ordered for you. It’s your favorite.”

It was fish and turnip stew.

“This is _not_ my favorite,” Felix muttered, and Sylvain laughed.

“Isn’t it? It’s spicy, so...”

“Is that all you know of me? That I like spicy food?”

“Felix, you don’t like spicy food. You _love_ spicy food. Come on, just try it. Here.” Sylvain spooned a little bit up and held it out to his mouth, and Felix turned his head away, mostly because Sylvain was a too close and eyeing him and in Felix’s mind he still sort of remembered how different Sylvain’s expression had been when he was —

“Fe-lix,” Sylvain sang. “Open up! You’ll love it. I promise.”

“Shut up! And get that away from my face! I can eat it myself.”

“What good friends you are,” Byleth murmured. “I didn’t know.”

Sylvain set the utensils down and beamed at her. “Actually, we’re best friends, Sensei!”

“There you go again,” Felix muttered. “One of your victims this week told me you were going around saying we were best friends.”

“Aren’t we? You’re the one that described it that way first.”

“_Years_ ago!”

“We’ve all known each other since we were kids,” Sylvain explained. “Me, Ingrid, Dimitri — and Felix was my first friend ever.”

“I see,” Byleth said.

“Nowadays all it means is that everyone expects us to clean up after your messes,” Felix grumbled. He took a bite of food.

“How is it?” Sylvain asked excitedly.

Delicious. Felix swallowed and continued, flatly. “Did you know there was even a girl who disrupted my training earlier?”

“Oh, no! Really? _Disrupted_? However will you make up for that huge lapse? Is it still possible to catch up?”

Felix set his knife down sharply and glared. Sylvain smiled.

“Finally I got you to look at me.”

The way he said it. How pleased he sounded, and how serious. Felix gritted his teeth, as if it could stop his face from reddening. He turned back away, to Byleth.

“Tell him he has to train more. Maybe you can get through to him.”

“Maybe I can,” Byleth said thoughtfully. “What do you think?”

“If there’s anyone I’d train for, it would be you, Sensei,” Sylvain purred. “Just tell me what muscle group you’d like to see me improve and I’ll get right to it.”

Felix furrowed his brows. He wasn’t understanding something, and Sylvain saw it.

“I decided to join Sensei’s class,” he explained.

“_What?_ You’re leaving? Why?”

“Um...because Sensei asked.” He said it like it was obvious. “And who am I to turn down the request of a beautiful woman? Much less our wonderful teacher?”

“So you’ll throw all of us away?” Felix demanded. “Just like that?”

Sylvain blinked. Byleth did too, which meant Felix’s habit for not mincing words had left a portion so awkwardly big that even her stoicism couldn’t swallow it.

“I...I mean...” Sylvain’s voice was cut by a nervous laugh. “It’s not like I won’t see you guys again.”

“Yes, of course we’ll see you again. Maybe you’ll even wave to us with your free arm when you pass by with another conquest.”

“This is a weird question, since you’re always kind of angry,” Sylvain said. “But...are you angry? At _me_?”

“No,” Felix told him. “I’m not.”

To prove it, he continued eating, furiously. He finished while Sylvain and Byleth watched.

“I’ll stay,” Sylvain said suddenly. “I’ll do it. If you tell me you want me to.”

“I don’t,” Felix told him, and then said, “Thank you for the meal, Sensei,” and left.

:::

Needles and static.

He went straight back to the training grounds. He accidentally halved one of the straw targets and pretended not to notice when the other students and even the tournament organizer drifted quietly away to allow him a wide berth. When the organizer finally left at the end of the day he announced it, a little offhandledy — “It’s late, I guess I’ll be going home to get some good rest for tomorrow’s training —” And Felix ignored him, and kept going, even after the lanterns started to dim and flicker as the oil ran low.

As a child he always had trouble sleeping. More often than not both his father and brother would be at the palace and at night, he couldn’t bear to be in his bed, in his own mind, alone. He knew that the king needed a knight as strong at least as his brother and so at night he would do his best to close the gap between them, sneaking out to the training grounds of the Fraldarius estate to practice as well as he could without the physical strength or size necessary to wield the real swords. It tired him out, at least. When he and Sylvain were together Sylvain had discovered him down there, once.

_“What...are you doing? It’s so late. You’re...training?”_

_“I couldn’t sleep. What are you doing?”_

_“I couldn’t sleep too. So I tried looking for you in your room, but — I mean...”_

Felix had stopped, breathing hard, arms sore and the dirt around him scored deeply from where he couldn’t lift the sword and it swung down out of his grasp. For the first time, they couldn’t think of anything to say about why they were there. They’d caught each other, in a place words could do nothing for them.

“Felix,” he heard, and Felix didn’t turn. It was only a matter of time before he was found. He faced a new target, adjusting his stance, taking a breath.

“Felix,” he heard again. This time Sylvain’s voice was plaintive. “Look at me, please.”

“I’m busy,” Felix said flatly. He took a breath. He started to lunge, and then heard it.

“I still remember our promise. Do you?”

Felix paused. Slackened. He took a deep breath, and sighed, and Sylvain interpreted it correctly as _Yes._

“I know we don’t see each other as much anymore,” Sylvain said. “And that you have — things going on. Training and whatever it is you do and think about now. I still...feel bad that I wasn’t really there for you after your brother died. Maybe if I was...then we’d still be...”

He trailed off, at loss, and Felix finally turned to him, with a frown.

“What are you talking about? We were children. What could you have possibly been able to do?” He sheathed his sword, crossed his arms. “The way we are now is a product of growing up naturally. And the way we were then is just a product of us having too much time and energy on our hands as children. No one can be blamed for it.”

“I...guess so.” Sylvain laughed, without warmth or amusement. “I guess when you grow up there are problems that just can’t be solved as easily as when you’re kids.”

_“Do you...want to go back to bed? Together?”_

“Seems like you still like to use plenty of the same problem-solving methods today that you liked back then,” Felix told him, “just the more adult version,” and Sylvain laughed again, this time for real.

“You should try it sometime. Maybe if you did you wouldn’t spend so much time out here just trying to pull the sword out from up your ass. Anyway,” he said, before Felix could retaliate. “I just wanted to tell you the real reason I want to switch into Sensei’s class.”

He had been crossing his arms behind his head, but now he held out a hand and snapped his fingers. In the dimness, the light cast by his hand was evident, but Sylvain snapped, again and again, until he got an ember, until he got a steady flame. Felix sucked in a breath.

“You can use magic?”

“Ever since Sensei mentioned to me she thought I might have a talent for it,” Sylvain said. He saw Felix’s astonishment; he grinned. “So I want her to teach me more. If I can use magic, chances are I’ll be strong enough to live a little longer, which means we’ll both live a little longer, right?”

“I’m impressed,” Felix muttered. Even so, he turned away again, and looked at the ground.

“Sensei said you’ve been training with her too. And she also said that thinks you might also have a talent for magic. So...” He trailed off. “I mean, Sensei is also pretty good at using a sword, so...if you came over too...I don’t know. Maybe we could both get pretty strong. That's the sort of thing you care about most nowadays, right?”

Felix said nothing. He didn’t dare look. His thoughts were racing. Sylvain — holding a hand to him at the top of a cliff — the way his expression lit in a particular way when he thought of something new to do together. He had more memories of Sylvain than his own father and brother. And he was remembering now, too, Sylvain’s hooded gaze at the hill the day before. The slight, firm way he’d pressed his body against someone else. How amidst that moaning had been Sylvain’s too, low, and urgent. Wanting. And how they’d looked at each other.

Even now they couldn’t think of anything to say about it. They’d caught each other, in a place words could do nothing for them.

Just like before, Sylvain spoke next.

“Felix,” he said. “I know it’s been a while. But. I want you to come with me.”

Silence. Except for the murmur of Sylvain’s flame. It had been growing; it was brighter now than all the lanterns, combined, and there was something else about it too, something strange, something about the way it was lighting up his chest, both new and also just as Sylvain was always able to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [plot summary: felix muses on his friendship with sylvain — descriptions of them (literally) sleeping together — felix accidentally sees/watches sylvain making out with someone.]
> 
> i’m currently slowly making my way through the yellow route, which is the source of the house decision of this fic. 💛
> 
> also thank you to Kenunot on ao3 for pointing out both Sylvain & Felix have budding talents in magic, which inspired me to think of this chapter! 🌟
> 
> and thank you to you for reading! ♡


End file.
